Eliminations
by corneroffandom
Summary: After Survivor Series, tag teams struggle to regroup.


A/N: Quick note for my BtB/EuM/Team Work/WWDD readers. NaNoWriMo's been kicking my ass pretty good here, so I've been holding off on writing for the weekly series. As soon as NaNo is done come December, I will catch up on those and I am sorry for the delay. They're not abandoned, I just need time.

Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers!

Jason finishes getting examined by the trainer first. Chad is relieved that it seems he's ok, but the assistant is being more careful with him, poking around his knee, asking again and again if anything hurts. Only his pride, but there's not much the trainer can do about that so Chad bites his tongue and repeats no as often as needed until he's let go as well.

He heads out into the hallway, immediately stopping in his tracks. He had expected to find Jason sitting out here, waiting for him, but there's no one around- the hall is empty, quiet. Chad gnaws at his lip and looks around, worry and annoyance warring for dominance. "What the hell, Jason?" he grumbles, pacing around the halls for a few minutes to calm down. Finally deciding to go outside to look for him, thinking maybe he'd wanted some air, he freezes upon realizing their rental is still parked where they'd left it that morning. He stares blankly at it before noticing someone is behind him. He turns, hoping it's Jason, just to be disappointed when he sees a security guard standing there.

"Are you Chad Gable?"

He makes a confused face, too out of it after the elimination and Jason's abrupt disappearance to focus fully on the words for a moment. "Um, yeah, that's me."

"Jason Jordan asked me to give you these."

Keys to the rental car. Gable squeezes them so tight his knuckles go white, his mouth abruptly dry. "Where is he?" he asks faintly, casting a quick glance around the parking lot.

"No clue." Job done, the security guard leaves him and Gable stares helplessly at the keys in his hand, the metal feeling as cold as his heart right now.

Exhaling, he unlocks the car and pounds a fist against the steering wheel before starting it up, driving towards the hotel. He doesn't remember the drive, nor parking. Only comes back to himself when he remembers that there's an outside garden here for people to go smoke at, and Jason had mentioned it as they walked by it hours earlier. Hope springing inside of him, he abandons his things in the hallway, not even caring what happens to them right now. He pushes the door open and listens to it slam shut behind him before looking around.

It's freezing, snow fresh on the ground, and Chad closes his eyes against it before stepping forward tentatively. "Jason?" He hears a noise a few feet away, snow crackling under something, and his breath seizes anew as he walks towards it. His partner isn't hard to see, even when he's sitting down and leaning against a wall, and Chad worries all over again because he's shivering just standing up so he can only imagine how Jason must feel with every inch of his exposed skin pressed against the snow trickling down the wall. "Jason," he breathes out.

They sit shoulder to shoulder for a few moments, Chad not sure what's wrong, but not wanting to push either. Finally, _finally,_ Jason shifts. "You should go inside, it's... it's cold out here," he says as if finally realizing this.

"I'm not leaving you out here," he says simply. "We're a team, where you go, I go."

Jason sits there for a minute and exhales, hitting the back of his head against the wall. Chad winces worriedly and turns to look at him, eyes dark and welling with something close to fear in the half-light. "I don't deserve a partner as good as you," he finally mutters, staring at his hands as they cross over his bent knees.

Chad sputters. " _What_?"

"You heard me," he says, frustration bleeding out through his tone.

"Maybe, but I don't understand what you mean. I mean,-"

"You deserve someone better, someone who doesn't choke so damn much." Jason looks away, his lips twisting angrily. "We get drafted to Smackdown and then what? I just start to screw up every time? I fail at keeping the Usos from injuring you so we don't get the tag title opportunity we deserved, I get us eliminated tonight, it just... maybe I should've stayed in NXT," he concludes, sounding so broken and sad that Chad feels like he's drowning in his partner's pain as well.

"Hey, hey, _hey,_ " he snaps, gripping Jason by the jaw and making him look back at him. "No one gets to talk about my tag partner like that, alright? He's the best partner I've ever had, or will ever have. I wouldn't have chased him to convince him of that for so long if he wasn't." His grip gentles and he exhales. "Besides, those things were my loss as well. It wasn't all your fault. My knee is what kept us from getting those tag titles, and I should've been there for you tonight. We're a team and losses are both of ours to deal with, just like victories are ours to celebrate. Alright?"

Jason's eyes are wide and a little wet but he nods, Chad's hand moving in time with the motion. "Alright," he struggles to say, voice thick with emotion. "I... yeah, you're right. Thanks. It just... it sucks."

"It does," Chad sighs, letting go of his face and leaning against him, hugging his knees to his chest. After a few moments of silence, he casts a glance at his partner. "Did you walk all the way here?"

Jason murmurs a confirmation and Chad rolls his eyes skyward before standing up, holding a hand out to him. "We're going inside, and you're taking a hot shower. Come on, up. Up. Get up." When he finally has ahold of Jason's hand, tugging him up as well and not surprised at all that Jason is stiff and sore after the match and sitting out in the cold for so long, he loops an arm around Jason's waist and drags him inside. His bag is still in the hall, untouched, and he scoops that up too before pressing the button to the elevator.

"Thanks," Jason mumbles halfway down the hall to their room and Chad turns, pressing his forehead to Jason's, his hand steady and warm against the back of Jason's neck, staring into his eyes.

"Don't ever do that again."

"I won't."

-x

Captain. Team captain. Co-team captain with Rhyno. No matter how Heath thinks it, the idea sounds ludicrous. If you had told him a year ago, hell, even six months ago, "Hey, Slater, you're going to captain a survivor series team!" he would've laughed at you, then gone home and buried his face in Boodah's side and tried not to think about how desperately he wished it were true. As it stands, it had happened- he'd captained the Hype Bros, Breezango, the Usos, American Alpha alongside Rhyno. He'd gotten King Bookah to give them all a pep talk. He'd done his best to keep his group together, despite past problems between the Usos and Alpha, Hype Bros and Breezango, and everything else going on.

But it hadn't been enough. Rhyno had gotten overwhelmed, Heath had been too slow to get back in to help him, and they'd been eliminated half-way through the match. His only consolation was that they far outlasted Raw's team captains, the New Day getting eliminated very early in the match. Rhyno doesn't seem concerned, unlike Heath, a steady, calm stream of words coming from his mouth. Consoling, comforting, encouraging. The strange mix of things that Heath had never expected from the man until they'd actually begun teaming together and no matter what Heath did or said, no matter how fretful or hyper he got, Rhyno was by his side, holding him up, supporting him, insisting that they'd get him his contract, get him his above ground pool, get him everything he ever desired out of this company.

Sighing, Heath lays his title belt down on the hotel desk and smooths a hand lovingly over the silver plates before collapsing onto his bed. Thanksgiving is in a couple of days and Heath's not even sure where to begin on the long list of things he has to be thankful for. Despite the loss, despite Wade being across the ocean filming another movie in England, he's going to make the best of the holiday that he can, even if it just means sitting around the house, sharing strips of turkey with Boodah and watching Wade's new movie while the kittens sleep on his chest.

He's picturing it in a half-doze when he feels a warmth at his elbow, Rhyno's presence obvious, and he cracks an eye open, peeking up at his tag partner. "What's up?" he asks before a phone is pressed into his hand. "Wha-" For a split second, he worries that it's Shane, angry about the losses Smackdown endured, stripping him of the tag belts and taking his contract away but Rhyno doesn't look concerned as he sits down across from Heath on the other bed, drying his dark hair from the shower he'd just taken. Heath sits up and presses the phone to his ear, opting to trust his tag partner. "Hello?"

The phone crackles for a moment, connection tenuous at best, and Heath raises his eyebrows at Rhyno, not sure what's happening, until- "Took you long enough, ginger," Wade's voice, still a bit staticky, but there, and warm, and a bit teasing, and-

"Brit!" he exclaims, eyes widening. "Rhyno called you?" He nudges his partner's leg with his foot but smiles when Rhyno glances at him, mouthing a thank you before flopping back onto the bed. "How's it goin' over there?"

"Fine. We're in between scenes, so he called at a good time." Wade's voice turns careful, almost consoling. "I read your team lost. I'm sorry."

Heath exhales and shrugs. "Yeah. Well, ya know." He clears his throat. "At least we weren't the first eliminated, I guess. Just sucks that I failed Smackdown. I really wanted to make everyone proud, prove that I've earned this, but..."

"Hey," Wade says, tone abruptly steely. "One loss doesn't mean you don't deserve this. Considering how the singles Survivor Series match went? At least your team held it together and worked together, unlike Ambrose attacking his captain and nearly costing Smackdown the win. Those tag teams never get along normally, but you pushed for unity and it worked. You should be proud. If anyone knows how hard it is to keep a group of guys from killing each other at the smallest slight, it would be me."

Heath's lips twitch up. "Thanks, Brit. Never really looked at it like that, but you're right."

"Of course I am. Besides, we all know what a beast Cesaro can be." When Wade pointedly doesn't mention his former League of Nations cohort, Heath wisely keeps quiet as well. "Heath, put Rhyno back on the phone for a moment, would you?"

"Huh? Oh. Uh, yeah, sure," Heath says, brows furrowing as he sits back up and pokes the phone towards Rhyno. "He wants to talk to you." What they discuss, Heath isn't sure as Rhyno keeps his answers to simple "Yeah"s and "Sure"s, Heath gritting his teeth by the time he has the phone back. "What was that about?" he wonders, eyeing Rhyno suspiciously.

Wade chuckles, sounding amazingly smug. "You're going to have some company for Thanksgiving. I know how you pout when you don't have anyone to cook for."

Heath pauses. "Wha- what?"

There's a muffled voice in the background and Wade mutters a curse. "Sorry, Ginger, I'll call you tomorrow. We have to go back to filming."

"Oh, yeah, sure, ok."

"I love you."

"Love you too," Heath manages to get out before the phone clicks, the call ended as abruptly as it'd started. He eyes Rhyno. "So. Thanksgiving."

"I was promised crackers and cheese," he says with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest.

Heath exhales, adding Rhyno with a plate of crackers and cheese to his holiday visual. "Aw, c'mon man. When do I not have crackers and cheese?"

Rhyno's teeth part in an almost feral grin and Heath laughs.

-x

The loss had been annoying. Enzo had wanted to prove himself, prove that he and Cass could hang with any tag team from either side of the company, putting aside his issues with the Club long enough to try- to _fight,_ but he'd still been eliminated. Afterwards, he couldn't find words sufficient to explain how bad he felt for failing Cass, for failing the team, so his verbal rampage is all about random nonsense, nothing important, just the usual. And when those fail him too, he starts rapping along with the music on the radio, anxiously looking over at Cass now and again. Cass is an expert at letting him talk himself out, his lips twitching up whenever he's only half-listening to Enzo. It's ok, he's used to it, Enzo talks to pass the hours spent in the car and Cass allows it, Cass doesn't fully listen and Enzo accepts that. It's just how they work.

So things seem normal, or at least Enzo thinks until he ends up outside of the locker room, locked out and naked as the day he was born. And he can't return to the showers to grab a towel or anything because, well, the rough white towels at arenas are against his religion- most towels are, really, unless they're his soft leopard print ones from home- so he squares his shoulders, shrugs and wanders down the hall in hopes of finding someone about his size that he could borrow from until Cass let him back in. Sami, maybe.

Instead he runs into Shining Stars, Titus O'Neil and... Lana. She doesn't run away screaming or faint or anything so he figures maybe Russia isn't that much different from his own viewpoint of the human body- why be ashamed, after all? It isn't like he'd meant to wander down the hallway like this, that's all Cass' fault, so... He waits for her to react and when she doesn't, he says the first thing that comes to mind. "How you doin'?"

Rusev appears then and starts complaining about his lack of dress, Enzo volleying back. When Cass intercedes, he's almost relieved because, well, getting in a fight with no clothes on is a bit out there, even for him. It's Cass' fault, anyway, so why should Enzo take all of the flack for it? Even so, it leads into Rusev and Enzo having a match later and he heads back to the locker room, Cass walking alongside him. He barely notices the stares as he walks back through the halls, focused instead on insulting Rusev and mentally preparing himself for the match later that night.

He loses. Pretty quickly too, Cass having to intercede when it looks like Rusev isn't going to drop the accolade any time soon. He sits there, fingers digging into the side of his tag partner's trunks, woozy and in pain. There's a throbbing ache in his back where Rusev had stomped him, declaring his dominance _before_ he'd put in the submission hold, and Enzo's shoulders feel tight and hot, like they'd almost been pulled from their sockets. He groans as Cass helps pull him upright, hands under his arms the only thing keeping him on his feet as they exit the ring and make it to the back. The ride back to the hotel is quiet, Cass regularly looking over at him. Enzo has nothing to say, not even filler to block out the noise in his own head.

It's pretty clear now that Cass _had_ been angry at him for losing last night, had locked him out of the locker room to pay him back for it. Enzo stares blankly out at the snow falling quietly against the windshield and, once they're parked and inside, he drops face first onto the bed and barely nods when Cass ghosts a hand down his back. "I'm gonna take a shower, 'Zo. I'll be back out in a minute, then you can have one if you want."

He exhales sharply, fresh pain stabbing down his spine at even that slight movement. "Such a loser," he mumbles to himself, hand curling into a fist as he grits his teeth against the pain, physical and emotional. Being on the main roster is fun, yeah, but everything from the concussion to this, here, now... He'd heard the whispers online, in the locker room. That he's holding Cass back, that he'd be better as a mouthpiece maybe. Cass had always scoffed these claims off, for the most part, but still.

Enzo's toes dig into the bottoms of his sneakers and he struggles just to breathe, eyes darting over when the shower shuts off a minute later and Cass returns, kneeling down next to Enzo on the bed. "You wanna shower?" he asks softly, fingers once more resting on Enzo's back.

"Not interested in movin'," Enzo mumbles into the pillow and Cass makes a soft tsking noise before shifting his weight, pressing his hands into Enzo's back. "Wh- what are you-" His voice dies away into a faint moan as Cass starts massaging the tension out of the muscles in his back, taking some of the pain with it. "Ah, good God-" His fingers go slack as Cass continues to work him over, fingers intent on sussing out every painful spot and easing it into quiet relief. Cass moves up, pressing into Enzo's shoulders, and he struggles to breathe when stars burst in front of his eyes. "Friggin magic fingers," he breathes out, staring dazedly at the headboard as Cass chuckles in his ear.

"Least I can do, it was my fault you ran into Lana and Rusev anyway," he admits, voice low and soft. "I'm sorry about that, Zo. I really didn't mean for it to happen..."

Some of Enzo's tension returns and Cass frowns, feeling it under his hands when his best friend's muscles bunch up again. "Ya didn't?" he rasps. "Yeah, 'cause guys regularly lock their best friends outta the locker room for no good reason."

"Zo-"

"I didn't meanta lose last night, alright?!" he exclaims, twisting away from Cass' fingers and sitting up to face this head on. "I tried to win, honest, I did. If you had a problem with how the tag Survivor Series match ended up, ya coulda just told me, 'n' not lock me out of the room while I was naked! You never talk, and I think things're ok, and then they're not and how the hell am I supposed to know you really have a problem until it's too late to do anythin' about it?! Huh?" Cass gapes at him as Enzo struggles for breath, for a thought, for the words to explain what finding himself locked out had felt like, but he can't speak, he can't think, he can't even inhale properly, and he stares desperately at Cass, not sure what's happening.

"Nah, nah, c'mere, c'mere." Cass grips him by the shoulders and tucks him in close, running his fingers through Enzo's messy hair. "No panic attacks, come on, Zo. Breathe with me, alright? You're gonna be ok." It takes some time but Enzo catches on and starts to breathe in time with Cass again, his thoughts growing less foggier as oxygen re-introduces itself to him. "There ya go." He kisses the top of Enzo's head, closing his eyes. "Listen, it wasn't... I wasn't mad, alright? I locked the locker room door because I... Well, I thought you were gonna be in the shower a lot longer than ya were, and I wanted to surprise you for Thanksgiving. That's all, it's not... I wasn't tryin' to pay you back or nothin'. Just... holiday stuff."

Enzo swallows and pulls away, wiping at his eyes. "Wha- what kinda holiday stuff?"

Cass makes a soft noise and grips Enzo's jaw, examining his pale face. "Well, we're gonna spend Thanksgivin' in Jersey."

"Wha- home? We're goin' home?" His face lights up and Cass laughs, squeezing him. "That's what you been plannin' this whole time?!"

"Yeah, just hadta work some stuff out with our families. I know how much you been missing your ma." Cass beams at him, aware that Enzo won't be happy until he knows every detail. "So the plan is we're gonna spend the afternoon with your family, and then we're gonna spend the evenin' with mine. And then all'a us will get together and go to the parade Friday mornin'. S'that alright?"

Enzo's eyes gleam. "It sounds pretty damn perfect, big guy."

-x

Getting eliminated from the Survivor Series match hadn't been a surprise. Disappointing, yeah, but almost expected. Zack had tried, he really had, but losses have become sadly common, his winning streak getting a little better with Mojo by his side, but not by much. Smackdown losing had stung, but at least they had fought hard and eliminated most of the Raw side. If not for Cesaro and Sheamus, well... he shrugs it off before turning to watch Mojo bounce around the hall, talking about his plans to party through Thanksgiving. "What are you doin' for the holiday, broski?!" he demands, hopping up onto the crate next to Zack just to immediately rebound off and yell after one of the tech crew to stay hyped.

Zack winces at the noise and waits for a moment to interject. "Dolph and I are going to my parents' and eating until we're unconscious, probably."

"Boring!" Mojo all but sings, getting back in Zack's face. "You both should come stay with me in Florida, we'll party till the break of dawn, it'll be so hype!"

"Nah, nah, I haven't seen my family in a long time, and they would murder me if I didn't come by. Sorry, bro." Mojo gives Zack that wide eyed, lips downturned, "You make no sense to me" kind of look before running off to find someone else to harrass. Exhaling, Zack gets up to try to stop him from being a complete pest to everyone passing by, most just a little too annoyed and frayed with the night's results to deal with Mojo. Even though sometimes Zack wants to deck him too, he doesn't think it'd be good of him to let his partner get waylaid in the hallway like this.

Once Mojo agrees to leave, Zack is relieved. Dolph had refused to come, settling in at the hotel to read and do whatever that's _not_ watching the PPV to pass the time **.** Mojo refuses to leave the hotel bar once they get their first couple of drinks down, and Zack tries to stay with him, keep an eye on him, but then Apollo Crews and Jack Swagger wander in. "Hey, guys," he calls out to them.

"Hey, Zack," Apollo greets him cheerfully.

"You mind watching Mojo here until he passes out or the bar closes, whichever comes first?" he wonders, pointing a thumb at his partner who is currently running around, challenging the people lurking around to play darts. "I wanna go check on Dolph but leaving Mojo alone is usually a bad idea, so..."

Swagger looks less than thrilled at the prospect but Apollo nods. "Sure, man, go do what you gotta do. We'll take care of him."

"Aw c'mon," Swagger whines, dropping down on the bar stool and burying his face in his hands.

Zack ignores him, nodding at Apollo. "Thanks, bro. Call me if anything comes up." He glances at Mojo, trying to decide if he'd get a word in edgewise to tell him why he's leaving, but finally just ducks out, heading for the elevator.

Their hotel room is quiet when he unlocks the door and enters, finding Dolph sacked out on his side, a book held haphazardly as he sleeps. Lips twitching up, Zack grabs it before he drops it and stuffs Dolph's bookmark between the pages, placing it onto the table before sinking down next to Dolph, kissing the side of his neck up along his jaw to his lips. "Hey, bro," he whispers when Dolph stirs.

"You're back," he slurs.

"Yeah, woulda been sooner, but you know. Mojo makes that difficult sometimes." Dolph nods sleepily and Zack continues to lazily kiss him.

"How was the show?"

"Not great," Zack admits after a moment. "I was eliminated, it ended up with the Usos against Cesaro and Sheamus, and Smackdown lost."

Dolph makes a face and leans over to kiss him, his fingers scraping through Zack's beard. "I'm sorry, kid."

"I'm sorry you weren't on the card at all," Zack murmurs. "You deserved it, bro. After all you fought through to keep your career."

"It's fine. Miz will get his sooner than later," Dolph says, tone promising all sorts of bad things ahead for Mike the next time they see each other.

Zack smirks, glad to see that Dolph still has some fire in his eyes. "So, bro... when we're driving to Smackdown tomorrow and you're devising what you're going to do to him..."

"Yes?" he asks warily.

"Can we listen to Christmas music? Please?"

Dolph exhales, making a face as he tries to think of an option that's less offensive to him right now. "Michael Buble?"

"If that's what you want," Zack says hopefully.

"I guess that'll have to do," Dolph sighs, usually against Christmas music before Thanksgiving but unable to disagree with Zack when he's looking at him like that. His mood brightens considerably when Zack cups his face, kissing him soft and deep, pulling away slowly a few minutes later.

"Thanks, bro," he breathes out, brushing their noses together with a grin.

"Any time, kid," he mumbles, dazed.


End file.
